


Falling Flakes

by dreamsofdramione



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 8th year, F/M, Internal angst, Pansy character study, Post War, Snarky Pansy Parkinson, Snow Day, Tumblr Tuesday - The Slytherin Cabal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:07:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22254631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofdramione/pseuds/dreamsofdramione
Summary: It was easy enough before the war to maintain her puffed-up bravado. A sly comment here, a sharp jab there, and no one suspected the crumbling pieces of the broken girl that lay beneath. No one had even cared to peer into the cracks of her pristine, perfectly polished exterior to see past the mask.No one, that was, until The Bloody Boy Who Lived—Twice.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy (mentioned in background), Pansy Parkinson/Harry Potter
Comments: 11
Kudos: 91





	Falling Flakes

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really know what this is. It started as a Drabble for The Slytherin Cabal's Tumblr Tuesday event and wound up as some sort of Pansy centric thing over 1,500 words. 🤣 
> 
> I have never dabbled with Pansy before so I hope you enjoy!

It was so bloody cold outside that her breath puffed out in little clouds of fog despite the warming charms she'd imbued into each and every layer of clothing she'd carefully selected. She was trying to come off as casual. Of course she wasn't daft enough to think her selection process didn't scream anything but, though as long as no one was the wiser, she could keep up the air of feigned indifference.

Because that's what she did.

Pansy Parkinson: heir of an ancient pureblood line, born and bred to be unaffected by anything deigned beneath her superior sensibilities. At least, she was raised to _appear_ unaffected. Her mother never cared much for any actual, tangible feelings. Appearances were everything. Feelings didn't matter; the image their family portrayed did. 

It was easy enough before the war to maintain her puffed-up bravado. A sly comment here, a sharp jab there, and no one suspected the crumbling pieces of the broken girl that lay beneath. No one had even cared to peer into the cracks of her pristine, perfectly polished exterior to see past the mask. 

No one, that was, until The Bloody Boy Who Lived— _Twice._

She’d returned to Hogwarts after the trials thanks to a bloody ministry decree. She hadn't been upset at the time, figuring days filled with studies were far superior to the alternative. Parkinson Manor had never been anywhere close to what she might consider welcoming, but it was her home, her safe space during the trials and tribulations of the war she wanted no part of. Now, though, it was bare save for the worthless artifacts the Ministry left behind after its raid, and their vaults were lighter by more than half thanks to fines and fees levied because of their "support" of that daft, noseless madman. 

It was unfair. Unjust! She’d been punished for her family's involvement, and generations to come would feel the brunt of the consequences for choices she'd never willingly made.

She'd been branded a traitor and shunned from her peers just because she'd pointed at that scar-faced prodigy. Her parents, however, cursed her for not being more vocal in her support of their cause, reasoning she could have "recruited from within"—whatever the bloody hell that meant.

Pansy had never been one to comply with orders, though, and nearly bucked at the mere insinuation that they'd wanted her to be nothing more than a slave to a cause someone else deigned "worthy."

Draco, of all people, had moved on and up, building his character and brand with the swot extraordinaire who still had yet to appear as though she owned a comb or even knew how to use one. 

It was another blow to who she thought she might've been one day, in the future she now had no chance of living. They'd been betrothed as children, and despite his reputation and wandering eye, she'd always hoped they would've found their way to one another organically. But Hermione Bloody Granger stepped in to fill that role. If the stars in Draco's silver eyes and the pink on his pallid cheeks were any indication, Little Miss Mudb— _Muggleborn_ , she corrected—would soon be Little Missus Malfoy, and Pansy would lose yet another thing in her life to the Bloody Golden Trio.

The war.

Her fortune.

Her betrothed. 

She was on a streak she wanted nothing to do with.

Which is why, when she'd seen a flash of white-blond and a mangy mess of curls tuck into an alcove none too covertly, already mid-snog, she'd pushed open the doors of the castle and kicked her way through mounds of snow and ice to find whatever semblance of solitude possible. 

She didn't need anyone, their expectations, their help cleverly disguised as "friendship," or their bloody company. People, in her experience, only served to disappoint or hurt her, or in the case of most of the important people in her life—both.

Fuck them. 

Pansy Parkinson didn't need anyone but herself.

"Pansy!" 

She'd recognize that damned voice anywhere, and Merlin help her, she wanted to hex him. Though, for appearances, that wasn't an option. Hell, per the terms of her re-enrollment, it wasn't even a consideration. 

He called to her again, and with one final kick to a little snowdrift by her heel-clad foot, Pansy stopped.

Snow dampened the sound of his steps, but the hasty shuffle of feet still trudged on in her direction. 

Holding onto the smallest slice of control over the situation, in an environment where Tweedleswot and Tweedledumb, his partners in crime, were not there to make her feel any more inadequate than she already did, she stood her ground. Staring at the Black Lake, and the snow-dusted trees just beyond, she refused to turn around or move even a single inch.

“Are you running from me or something?" He was much closer now, a mere foot or so away from her still-freezing form—bloody useless warming charms.

"Or something." Sniffling through the cold, she shoved her manicured hands deep in the pockets of her robe and quirked a perfectly plucked brow as he rounded her and came into view. "Need something, Potter? Or did you follow me just to ruin my day?"

"Ruin your day?" Brow furrowed, he raked long fingers through the tufts of inky, unkempt hair. Maybe it was a Gryffindor thing, she mused, to say sod it all to even a basic brush in the morning. "You just... Well, you looked upset and I-I just wanted to make sure you were okay, I guess."

Staring just over his shoulder to the snow-lined tree branches, she shrugged. "I'd say that's subjective, but as far as you need to know, yes, I'm fine." 

He tilted his head and she finally dragged her eyes away from the landscape to stare at him, noting his concern by the clench in that infuriatingly chiseled jaw she'd never openly admit to admiring. "Well, your service work is done for the day, Chosen One. Go traipse back to your merry band of misfits."

"Pansy..." One step. He took one step closer and suddenly the warming charms seemed much more effective, and an inkling of heat snaked up her neck, tickling her cheeks. "You're not some charity case I'm trying to rehabilitate or-or—"

"Oh, sod off, Potter. I don't have time to mingle with plebeians like you today." Pushing forward, she shouldered past him, but couldn't take another full step as a hand closed around her elbow, fingers pressing into the thin flesh and stopping her escape.

"Why do you do that?" She was still facing the forest, but he'd pivoted to her side in his attempt to block her exit. Warm breath tickled the shell of her ear and her lungs hitched as his fingers gripped just a little bit harder. "You don't have to act so bloody tough all the time, you know? Why do you even do that—pretend like you don't care?"

"I—"

"No. It's my turn to talk now.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his jaw tick, clenched with an intensity that made her pause. “I'm tired of the vitriol. You're far too pretty to spit such nasty remarks. I see you, you know. In the library studying, with those painted lips wrapped around your quill." A shiver slithered up her spine completely unrelated to the arctic air she'd nearly forgotten about. "I've _always_ seen you." A step into her and his hand slid along the curve of her hip. She couldn't help the way her breath stuttered, little puffs of white clouding into the air. "You want everyone to think you're calm and collected, calculating and unaffected, but I see more than that in you," his lips grazed her ear, "Pansy." Her name had always felt simple, sweet, like a flower few cared for. But just then, it sounded like honey, dripping in sin. "So let's cut this act, shall we?" Tilting her head, she caught his gaze, warm green eyes staring at her, into her, peering through the cracks she'd tried to cover with wit, sheer willpower, and a touch of rouge. 

"Fine," she whispered, allowing the mask of her own making to slip away under the scrutiny of his gaze. 

"Good." His finger flexed against the small of her back and her heart thudded a little harder in her chest. "Now that that's out of the way, I have a question for you."

Shuffling her heels that had been conveniently charmed to ward off the melting snow, she turned to face him fully. His large palm slid along the dip in her spine, landing on her hip in a way that was far more intimate than their tentative friendship allowed. "Do you? What in Merlin's name could you, Golden Boy, possibly have to ask me?"

Harry tutted his tongue. "Now, now. We're all equals in this post-war reality. No more of that shameful self-loathing. We'll have to work on that."

Lifting a brow and trying to remain unaffected in his grip, Pansy waited for his request.

Emerald eyes dipped, skirting along her pinkened cheeks to land on her pursed lips. "Hogsmeade?" he rasped.

With her mind muddled, she still couldn't understand what he meant, focusing instead on the weight of his gaze as it roamed her features as though he was studying every dip and curve of her very being. 

"This weekend?" He finally looked up at her again, a slim line of green snug against the black of his pupils, and it all clicked into place.

"Me? You want to take _me_ to Hogsmeade this weekend?"

A smirk any Slytherin would be proud to sport curled on his unfairly plump lips as Harry nodded.

It appeared as everyone had moved on, everyone but her, because as tempting as his offer was, it was also more than a little unexpected. He was playing with her. Playing a game she didn't know the rules for, without a lick of instruction. 

"Sorry to disappoint, Potter, but I'll have to pass."

Moving around him, she stalked back up to the castle, blaming her pounding heart on the fresh wave of chilly air cutting through her billowing robes because there was no bloody way Harry Bleeding Potter had just asked her on a date.

Moreover, if he did it again, she wasn't entirely sure she could turn him down a second time. And that—well, that wasn't even an option. 

Was it? 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Major, major thanks to my lovely friend [@noorakardemmomesaetre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/noorakardemmomesaetre/pseuds/noorakardemmomesaetre). Without your unfailing support over the last few years, I don't know that I'd even still be writing. 
> 
> All of my alpha love to the wonderfully talented [@msmerlin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmerlin/pseuds/msmerlin). If you guys aren't aware, she's a super talented author in her own right and you should check out her works. My wonderfully attentive beta, [@i_was_botwp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_was_botwp/pseuds/i_was_botwp), put her own brand of polish on this little piece so make sure to show her works some love, too!
> 
> Come find me on tumblr [@dreamsofdramione](https://dreamsofdramione.tumblr.com)!
> 
> THANK YOU ALL for reading! Comments & kudos **always appreciated!**


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